Time
by Eve-the-Charlotte
Summary: Multi-chapter, loosely-connected mini-series story based around Time and those affected by it.  Includes Norway/Japan, Scotland/England, and many more.
1. In the Beginning

_Time _by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Pairings in Story: Various.

Pairings in this particular chapter: Norway/Japan, Belarus/Liechtenstein, and Scotland/England.

Prompt: Time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers.

I'm not dead! In other news, this is the first installment of a little multi-chapter loosely-connected mini-series story. Enjoy.

&You'reBornOfAJackel&

_Millisecond_

Their eyes met for just a millisecond at the tri-annual World Meeting, the only time it seemed that the pair could see each other anymore. That was enough for Sjurd and Kiku, though, enough to bring the smallest of springs to their steps and the most fragile of songs to their lips, echoing a million times louder in their hearts.

_Second_

Lips touched for a brief second, before the smaller girl yanked them away as though she had been scalded with boiling water. The taller woman, garbed in dark Lolita-style clothing, attempted to snatch the girl, but the young princess from an ancient German kingdom was far more fleet-footed than appearance would suggest and spirited herself away from the Belarusian before another second had yet passed.

_Minute_

All it took was a minute, a brief clash of words before a longer clash of the lips. After a short tussle of the more sexual kind, the Scotsman and the Englishman lay down upon the bed that had seen to their union so long ago. The Scottish fellow pulled a well-worn blanket over the two and whispered gruffly into his "wife's" ear, "Ah loove yeh, ma wee hen." The English fellow stayed awake a few minutes longer, listening to his "wife's" breathing even out in his deep slumber, before whispering, "Love you, too, luv."

&You'reBeautiful&

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	2. Second Verse, Same as the First

_Time _by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers.

Parings in Story: Various

Pairings in this chapter: France/Prussia, Germany/N. Italy, and Switzerland/Austria.

Prompt: Time.

Chapter two, yay!

&You'reBornOfAJackal&

_Hour_

An hour was all the time they had left, before the clock struck twelve and the Prussian would be gone forever. An hour was all _he_ had left, to apologize for what he had done to his poor lover, out of an hour of unforgiving hate, overpowering the love that had last the two men centuries of war, conquest, and revolution. Francis could have lied and claimed his people had pushed him to sign that damning proclamation, but the Frenchman knew it was him who did it. He could have tried to resist, but his fury at what had happened to him and his people and his land had unleashed a monstrous rage that he let control him. Now, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, Francis hugged Gilbert closer, as the Prussian dreamed an uneasy dream, and prayed the albino would live past the twelfth strike of twelve.

_Day_

Ludwig sighed as he watched the young Italian man in line hum a cheerful tune while waiting for the two gelatos ordered to be served. The German had no clue as to why he was here, in this cutesy little Italian café, sipping an overpriced espresso (Ludwig didn't want to know how much the _verdammit_ thing cost), while skipping out on a glorious day for training just to hang out with Feliciano, personification of the northern portion of the country of Italy. The blonde had no idea why he thought lazing around all day would be a perfectly acceptable way to pass his day, when he had literally _mountains_ of paperwork to finish doing and he had to double-check how the members of the Bundestag and the Bundesrat were holding up due to the upcoming elections in his country and _mein Gott_ he had to get home to see what in the holy _Fuhrer _Gilbert had done to his house yet again and. . .

Ludwig's train of thought was interrupted by a squeal of "Ve! Ludwig, Ludwig! The nice _Signorina_ saw how long we waited," since when was Feliciano and himself a "we," "so she gave us our _gelatos_ for free! Ve, isn't that great, Ludwig? Here's your _gelato_, Ludwig." The Italian pushed the chocolate _gelato_ into the German's hand, long, delicate fingers brushing against Germany's larger fingers. An electric wave tingled throughout Ludwig's body, like static electricity, and Germany felt his face heat up to the tips of his ears. It was then the German knew that he would willingly waste every day for the rest of his life with the Italian man, just for that spark.

_Week_

A week was a long time to wait for one to have his house repaired. Switzerland was seriously considering screening his sister's friends much more thoroughly before let them near his home. After all, the investigation about this "Hong Kong" was clearly not thorough enough, as the P.I. did not pick up on the half-Chinese boy's love of fireworks nor his ability to weasel his "preciouses" into Vash's beautiful house, with its exquisite view of Lake Constantine (one of the few aesthetics the Swiss man allowed himself), under Vash's nose. Though, seriously, Switzerland wondered wearily, how did his lovely Liese meet these individuals?

Vash's ponderings were interrupted, however, by the man answering the door of the mansion the nation was currently standing in front of. The human, with his coiffed salt-and-pepper hair fashioned to obviously cover a bald spot and small, close-set that moved condescending over Switzerland's harried appearance, sneered slightly and, in a nasally voice, asked what the _Knabe_ wanted from _Herr Österreich_? Vash visibly bristled under the absolute _nerve_ that man had to speak to him, _der Schweizerischen Eidgenossenschaft_, in such a manner! As Vash was getting close to drawing out _Hedwig_, Roderich Edelstein appeared near the entryway to the mansion. Upon noticing a homicidal Switzerland, the Austrian politely ordered the butler to please let _Herr die Schweiz _inside his house. The butler, eyes widening, acquiesced to his master's instructions, but not before mumbling just loud enough for Vash to hear as he passed by, "so _this_ is _Herr_ Sebastian Zwingli."

Vash felt his trigger finger twitch, but suppressed the urge to shoot the pest in the foot, not wanting to draw Austria's ire not even five minutes into his weeklong stay. Yet, even though Vash did not know it, nothing the Swiss man could do could make Roderich in the least bit upset during this week. For, you see, _Herr_ Edelstein had a plan to make Vash's visits longer and more frequent. And that plan was, wording it plainly, to make his dear Vash his _Liebhaber_. And what neither nation knew now was that plan would be both easier and harder than either could ever, at the time, anticipate.

&You'reBeautiful&

German to English Translations:

Verdammit – damn it

mein Gott - my God

Fuhrer - leader; title assumed by Adolf Hitler during his reign in Germany

Knabe – boy

Herr – Mister

Österreich – Austria

der Schweizerischen Eidgenossenschaft – the Swiss Confederation

die Schweiz – Switzerland

Liebhaber – lover

Italian to English Translations:

Gelato – Italian-style ice cream

Signorina – Miss

Also, Hedwig is Vash's favorite gun. Do not mess with Hedwig.

Please feel free to correct the German and Italian if incorrect, and please read and review!


	3. Third Time's the Charm

_Time _by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers. However, I am pleased to say I own my own version of Scotland, which I forgot to mention in the first chapter, and my own version of Moldova.

Pairings in this Story: Various.

Pairings in this Chapter: Canada/Moldova, Russia/America, and Denmark/Iceland.

Prompt: Time

Time for chapter three, y'all! Woohoo!

&You'reBornOfAJackal&

_Fortnight_

Two weeks was a long time to be baby-sitting. At least, that's what Matthew Williams thought as he learned that Alfred and Ivan would not be in North America for a month and Ruxandra, as the Canadian had learned Romania was called, wouldn't be able to fly to Ontario until a fortnight had passed. This left Canada to be forced to take care of one Ştefan Braginsky, known also as Moldova, for quite a length of time. This would have been fine, as he had been forced to watch children for longer lengths of time (parents forget who and where Canada was) and there had been no problems. Heck, he'd even watched Moldova before. The problem was that Ştefan was growing up fast and was barely a little kid by any means. And Canada's body realized that.

The child was rapidly becoming a man, a handsome man at that. The boy looked quite a bit like Russia, with his height and build and large, pale violet eyes. However, Ştefan's skin was a tad darker and his hair was soft and curly and a lush shade of medium brown that highlighted his eyes and Matthew should stop thinking these things before thoughts become words that lead to actions! It didn't help that Ştefan often pouted when he did not get his way, which was often as the many things he wanted to do were often radical and, in some cases, illegal in at least a hundred countries. And when the boy pouted, all Canada, no, all _Matthew_ wanted to do was kiss those lush lips, which would draw out an innocent whimper and that would lead the Canadian down a road from which he could not turn back.

"_Matei_, comrade, what is wrong," was the innocent query posed by the object of Matthew's wrong yet oh so _tempting_ thoughts. Matthew turned around, and his poor old heart almost stopped beating. There was Ştefan in all his glory, wearing only a white terry bath towel wrapped around his waist. The rest of the boy's body was lean and lanky, with just the beginning of muscles showing up in the right places. The boy looked rather wet still, probably not having properly dried off and then he would get sick and Matthew would have to nurse the sick boy back to health and the Moldovan would be so weak and helpless and completely subject to the merest whims of the Canadian and Matthew ought to stop talking to Ivan because, _man_, was that man rubbing off on him! The boy pouted as he realized he was being ignored, not at all aware of how sexy he looked.

Did Ştefan _know_ how he appeared? The drops of water falling from his water-darkened hair were slowly sliding down the boy's body enticingly, begging Matthew to lick them all up, starting from the shoulders down, down, _down_. _Mon Dieu_, Matthew was going to _l'Inferno_. . . Wait a second, when did Ştefan get so close to him? Moldova stood toe to toe with the Canadian, which, if the still-growing boy inched closer, would allow Ştefan to fit snugly underneath Matthew's chin. Moldova obviously noticed Canada's attention was now firmly focused on him, which caused the Russo-Romanian child to smile. That smile was the final trumpet blast sounded that brought down Matthew's walls of self-restraint. The Canadian's last thoughts were, "_Lui de baise_."

_Month_

Whilst this, in the view of some atrocious, incident occurred, Ivan and Alfred sat in a meeting room, bored out of their minds by the serious diplomatic talks taking place around them. Honestly, their current leaders _still_ didn't seem to get that leaving the personifications of the Russian Federation and the United States of America alone in a locked broom closet with a few bottle of Jack Daniels and Smirnoff and a few condoms and a bottle of cherry-scented (not strawberry or peach because, dude, _so _not manly) hand lotion would ease tensions between the two major world powers quicker than some mind-blowingly boring meetings that never got anywhere anyway. Or maybe their leaders were secretly war-mongers that really wanted a continuation of the Cold War. Whatever.

America managed to come out of his boredom-induced coma long enough to observe that: A.) nothing was still getting accomplished at the meeting, and B.) Russia looked hot without his coat on, dude, for _serious_. The larger Russian was very well-muscled without an ounce of fat on his bones, which suited him so _fine_. The American President shot a sideways glare at Alfred, who noticed that he was drooling slightly, which America couldn't really help since he'd wanted to get into Ivan's pants again for such a very long while, and now he was missing his chance. Wait a second, that wasn't right!

One hand raise, awkward bathroom excuse, and ever-so-subtle sexual gesture to Russia later, Alfred got his currently dearest wish, Ivan pushing him roughly against the bathroom wall, one thigh forcefully pushing Al's legs apart, ruthlessly kissing the American, which caused America to moan and whine and buck his hips. Ivan pulled his lips away from Alfred's, surveying his prey before making his next move. . .

"Sweet baby Jesus," shrieked the unsuspecting intern who had just walked into the bathroom to pee and found the, to him at least, horrific sight before his eyes. Another intern walked in as well, after noticing her fellow co-worker's frightened yelp, and paused in front of the scene as her brain processed what lay before her. Ivan and America both had one thought running through their minds, that of "oh shit." Needless to say, their collective horror was not relieved by the slowly widening evil smile across the female intern's face and the deep violet aura that often surrounded Russia in his bouts of manic glee emitting from the woman's body.

One hour later, after haggling and finally handing over two blank checks to the interns, one still with a completely traumatized expression and the other with a totally happy smile of sweet triumph, Russia and America made their way back to the meeting room. Of course, by the time the two got back, the coma-inducing meeting was over, and their respective Presidents were not happy men at all. Alfred, victim of the disease oft described as "Open-Mouth-Insert-Foot," immediately put into words his inner monologue of "aw, shit!" Judging by the looks on the faces of the leaders of the two great world powers, Alfred had a feeling that this was going to be one _long_ month, дa?

_Year_

Jørgen shivered as he sat alone in his very large, very old home in the heart of _København_. His house was oh so lonely, as Færoes was out with Åland doing whatever little provinces of different countries did with each other when they went out with each other. _Grønland _was still pissed at Jørgen for not granting him full independence after the war. Ah, the war, World War II, the war that turned Jørgen neutral world into a living nightmare. And, even as it ended, Jørgen still had to face the reality that _Island_ was gone for good this time. Sure, he managed to get him back before, with that Act of Union, but Viggó was not coming back this time. This time, Jørgen had lost the last of what he considered his brothers, even if his feelings for them exceeded the term "_bror_." _Sverige _and Finland had left long ago, yet Jørgen still often awoke in the middle of the night with nightmares from the break. _Norge_ had been forcibly taken from him by his _storebror_, even as Jørgen forced himself to finally let Sjurd go free. This act would have broken the Dane completely; in fact, it almost did, if not for his _engel_, his Viggó. And his _kærlighed_ had left, had felt forced to leave by _Danmark_'s weakness, the Dane's inability to protect even himself from the _ulve_, the dreaded _Nazister_. It was entirely his fault.

And now Jørgen sat in his lonely house, nursing some mead in an attempt to stave off his depression, though the drink seemed to only deepen his sorrows further. So low was he that Danmark did not notice the door to his home opening and even did not take in the shadow that joined his on the wall of the darkened study. A pair of slim arms wrapped themselves around the Dane's chest from behind and a voice whispered in thickly-accented Danish, "_Må ikke bekyrme dig, __**kæru**__. Jeg er her._"

Jørgen's eyes widened in shock as his mind scrambled to take in the thin, warm arms surrounding him and the angelic voice with its Icelandic accent whispered milk and honey into his ears. It was Viggó's turn to be startled as the Dane leapt out of his armchair and fully embraced the young man next to him. Viggó felt his eyes widen and face heat up as _Danmörk_ seemed to try to merge his body into Viggó's. The young man's stiff posture did not thaw until he felt the body-wracking sobs emitting from the older country and heard the fevered whispers of "_Skal du ikke lade mig, min kærlighed, mit hjerte, min sjæl, min elskede_."

_Ísland_ felt a few tears slip down his red cheeks as his soul absorbed the pain Jørgen felt so openly. He knew the behavior was driven by spirits and loneliness, yet he could feel his heart flutter at the loving words spoken in pain, as even the sorrow of this night could not diminish the effect of the words on _Ísland_'s heart. It was, after all, the first anniversary of his independence from _Danmörk_.

All hail June 17, 1945.

&You'reBeautiful&

Romanian to English Translation

Matei – Romanian version of the name "Matthew"

French to English Translations

Mon Dieu – My God

l'Inferno – Hell

Lui de baise – the literal translation is "fuck him," but is meant as "fuck it."

Russian to English Translation

Дa - yes

Danish to English Translations

København – Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark

Grønland – Greenland, autonomous province of Denmark that has and is making bids for independence from the Kingdom of Denmark for quite some time

Island – Iceland

bror – brother

Sverige – Sweden

Norge – Norway

storebror – older brother

engel – angel

kærlighed – love

Danmark – Denmark

ulve – wolves

Nazister – the Nazis

Må ikke bekyrme dig. – Do not worry.

Jeg er her. – I am here.

Skal du ikke lade mig, min kærlighed, mit hjerte, min sjæl, min elskede. – Please don't leave me, my love, my heart, my soul, my beloved.

Icelandic to English Translation

kæru – dear

Danmörk – Denmark

Ísland – Iceland

Good night, everybody! Read and review! Peace out.


	4. Home Run, Not

_Time _by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers and, according to my friends, that actually might be a good thing.

Pairings in this Story: Various

Pairings in this Chapter: Latvia/Hungary, Poland/Lithuania, and Sweden/Finland.

Prompt: Time

I haven't updated this in a bit, but I'm back with another chapter! Yay!

&You'reBornOfAJackal&

_Decade_

Bent down on one knee, Raivis stuttered out, "M-m-marry m-me, M-miss Hédéváry." Hungary noted that it was not a question; the voice called out a statement, an order, a command. No matter how stuttered out it was, a statement was a statement, an order was an order, and a command was a command. Erzsébet considered her next moves carefully. What might happen to her and her people if she accepted Latvia's offer? What would happen if she answered otherwise? Why did Raivis Galante wait a decade after his independence, until 2000, to tell the Hungarian such a bold thing? Why indeed.

Raivis shook almost imperceptibly as he felt his left knee grow numb. He was waiting for Miss Hédéváry's, no, Erzsébet's answer. Raivis knew the Hungarian well, that she would consider first her people than herself personally. The Latvian knew from the many years they had spent with one another, in that cold mansion with golden bears and barred doors, with beautiful eggs and hideous finery. Yet, unlike the others who had asked for her hand before, Raivis proposed only out of love; he would not to use the woman, but only worship her, as befitted such a lady.

Erzsébet whispered the arrangement that would suit the both of them into Raivis's ear. Raivis agreed solemnly and watched as the Hungarian spun on her heel and walked toward the exit. "Y-you promise, r-r-right, M-miss Hédéváry, i-if I do th-these things, y-y-you will b-be mine," Raivis asked, his last word coming out loud and clear. Hungary smiled and told him that she, as woman and as country, never lied. Raivis nodded in agreement and felt sparks of hope start up in his heart even as the Hungarian woman left.

_Score_

They had been independent for such a short period of time that it hardly seemed fair that they be denied their wishes yet again. But, here Toris and Feliks were again, one still feeling the long ago wounds inflicted upon him as he was Ivan's "favorite" and the other still bleeding from recent injuries caused by a certain Aryan nation. Toris wrapped his arms around his Polish friend, mindful of the more serious hurts Feliks sustained. Seeing Poland like this, in pain with a broken look in his eyes, made Lithuania want to cry. The whole situation made the Lithuanian die a little on the inside.

Feliks comforted his friend, fellow nation, lover, whatever they were. The Pole could feel tears soak his military uniform, but Feliks didn't mind, because the thing was totes ugly anyways and Liet was totally more important than any uniform, any piece of clothing, just anything. Too bad Liet never seemed to realize how much he meant to the Pole, so to remedy that, the Polish man kissed the Lithuanian fervently, passionately, lovingly.

Lithuania let out a small squeak of surprise at the action, but he acquiesced and began to return the action with just as much emotion, if not more. He did so because he loved the bossy, little brat that was kissing him so freely, with his cross-dressing, his laziness, his bossiness, his shyness toward strangers, his bluntness towards Toris, his seemingly self-centered views about everything and everyone, and even his annoying valley girl/Polish accent he spoke frequently with. And Feliks loved him, even though Toris was weak, self-hating, never stood up for himself, let others take advantage of his inherent kindness, and, above all, showed others the special side of himself that, according to Feliks's all important opinion, no one really deserved, not even Feliks himself. The kiss ended after an eternity, for though they did not need to breathe, it was just natural for them to catch a breath.

The door to the room opened almost silently, with just a smidgen of noise, enough to alert the two nations that someone besides them was there. Twin violet fires burned from eyes and an insane grin marred the features of the tall Russian man standing at the doorstep. Toris began to shake much like his near northern neighbor and Feliks wrapped his arms around the Lithuanian's shoulders protectively, glaring at the monster in the doorway. Ivan tilted his head to the side, not quite comprehending the vibes he was getting from the two nations. After all, who wouldn't want to become one with Mother Russia? As Russia advanced, both Poland and Lithuania braced themselves for the inevitable outcome.

_Century_

Sweden didn't take his eyes off of the shivering young man that had landed on his porch. The Finn thought he was being sneaky, covering up his tracks and shushing Hanatamago before she even started barking. Too bad he was too drunk to realize that Berwald had been watching him from the window for the past ten minutes.

Tino smiled drunkenly as snow began to fall again. It was interesting, the snow was cold and the Finn normally hated cold things, but he loved the snow, the ice, and icy blue-green eyes that pierced his soul even when not visible. Eyes that made Finland shudder, hands that warmed him, and lips that kissed him when they were in love. Or perhaps they were still in love? Tino wasn't quite sure, because he could still feel his heart beat loud for his Berwald, who was still his even after all this time, but it wasn't the same. There was bitterness in the love that made the Finn shy away, a sort of sweet poison that tasted like ambrosia in those tales Greece told. Finland snapped his fingers as his muddled brain found the solution. Tino loved Berwald, but he didn't _want_ to love him, because the emotion hurt too much for him to bear. Finland couldn't bear losing his _Ruotsi_, not after they had been parted for so long, so _Suomi_ hardened his heart and tried to forget. It hurt, but not as much as it would hurt when Fate separated them both again. . .

When had he started crying?

Berwald felt his body move away from the window and out through the door and onto the porch where Tino was sobbing uncontrollably, like he had when the Finn had been shot in the chest during what his people called the Winter War. Sweden pulled Finland close and embraced the smaller nation, which caused Finland to cry harder. The Swede quickly and quietly picked up his dear Tino, because the man was still his, and moved them into the house and through the hall and into the Swede's bedroom. Berwald deposited the nation onto his bed, or tried to, since the Finn refused to let go. Sweden understood what Finland meant by that, as he often did, and situated them under the heap of blankets. Berwald hesitated for a moment, before kissing Tino's lips and tucking the Finnish man's head into the crook of his neck. Finland froze but not for long, because Sweden was here and the bed was warm and he was too tired to fight the perfection of the moment. Less than a century before, they would have either denied themselves the opportunity or never have gotten the chance, so Tino closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, because the alcohol he consumed earlier was making it too hard to keep awake. Berwald followed suit.

&You'reBeautiful&

Finnish to English Translation:

Ruotsi – Sweden

Suomi – Finland

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	5. Here's the Finale

_Time _by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, sniffle, sniffle.

Pairings in this Story: Various.

Pairings in this Chapter: Turkey/Egypt, China/Korea, and Rome/Germania.

Prompt: Time

Oh my God, I've actually finished something more than one chapter long. Hoo-ray! I think I'll miss writing this story, but, hey, I might tack on one of those omake things later, who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoy the final official chapter of _Time_, a Hetalia: Axis Powers story.

I'm really bad at writing China. . .

&You'reBornOfAJackal&

_Millennium_

Millennia had passed, and Sadik still couldn't get Gupta to go along with the idea of him courting the Egyptian! Honestly, did Egypt want to drive Turkey insane? Gupta always, though ever so subtly, flirted with the Turk constantly, yet always denied Sadik any more than mere teasing. It was enough to drive any man up the proverbial wall. And the Egyptian only worsened his teasing as he and the Turk got older. In the beginning, Gupta would smile shyly when Sadik looked his way and, if Egypt drank too much of his own beer, might perhaps wink seductively at Turkey. But, since the fall of the Ottoman Empire, Gupta's flirting had stepped a notch, or perhaps ten or twenty. The Egyptian would sit straddled on his chair when he and Sadik held diplomatic discussions alone (and sometimes, even when their bosses were present!), legs spread wide and invitingly. Gupta would lick his lips throughout shared meals, and the Egyptian had the gall to smirk sexily and wink whenever the Turk's eyes lingered too long on Egypt's appetizing form! And Allah forbid the heat of summer, for that was when Gupta lingered on Sadik's porch after their private meetings (Sadik noticed that whenever one of his bosses met Egypt, they made sure to afterward always schedule Sadik's meetings with the Egyptian to be private. Coincidence?), sucking at cherry popsicles while lazily watching Turkey try not to groan at the sight. Yet, in spite of these obvious temptations, Sadik Adnan has resisted his baser urges to just take the Egyptian to bed with him and asked for Gupta's permission to go out on dates and cuddle and all other sorts of couple-ish things.

And every. single. Damn. _time. He. __**has. Said**_**. **_**NO. **_Verily, verily, verily, the entire situation threw the Turk. Wasn't Gupta supposed to be polite and chaste and _not_ just looking for a good time? It was apparently not true, if the man's behavior was anything to go by. And even though Sadik wasn't the best Muslim in the past (and still isn't, come to think of it), he wants to at least be in a relationship before he sexes up a person (Heracles does not count. Sadik was power-mad. The brat would not convert and would not stop rebelling. Did not count.). Yet still Gupta shakes his ass at Sadik, obviously wanting a _physical_ experience, if not relationship, if not a preferred emotional connection. Quite frankly, the whole scenario pissed off Turkey royally. And the scene in front of him was the straw that breaks this Turkish camel's back.

Gupta Muhammad Hassen was fluttering his damned eyelashes at that English bastard! Sadik felt his hands turn to fists as Gupta winked at England (horrible country, Sadik thinks, even though he hasn't spoken to the man in almost a century) and the Turkish nation ground his teeth as the Egyptian put his hand on the Englishman's shoulder and leaned closer, most likely under the lie of trying to hear the scruffy blonde dog better. Before Turkey could stomp over to the two and demand at least an explanation for Gupta's _flirting_ with a nation other than himself, Sadik was beaten to the punch by a red-haired man who, though slightly taller and wirier than England, looked to be perhaps a relative of the Englishman, if those _enormous _eyebrows were a hereditary trait. The redhead sneered at Gupta, and, fortunately, the Egyptian sensed imminent danger and got far, far away from the brothers (Maybe? That was Sadik's only guess.). As soon as Egypt got out of range of the redhead (who wouldn't have noticed the Egyptian anyway, considering the way he was harping on the Englishman; did it make Sadik a horrible person if the sight made him smile?), Gupta grinned at Turkey in a rather, well, annoyingly smug fashion as the Egyptian licked his lips and batted his eyelashes coyly.

The Turk snapped as he easily picked up the Egyptian and slung the man over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Sadik grinned as his ears picked up Gupta's soft gasp of surprise. The other nations, as well as a couple of those irritating UN interns, all turned to stare and gape at the scene presented before their lying eyes. Turkey heard a certain Greek man whisper something about "neanderthal Turks" to his Japanese companion and whoever else was listening in, which caused Sadik's free hand turn to a fist, until a small, soft, and smooth hand traveled down the Turk's back at a leisurely pace, before delivering a sharp smack to Sadik's ass, whispering in Turkey's ear, "Go straight to the supply closet, _yakışıklı_." The Turk obeyed the command eagerly, his libido, turbo charged by those sweet lips uttering his native tongue, and practically ran at full speed out of the meeting hall, ignoring any and all strange looks and insults, Greece be damned.

Before the pair arrived at the aforementioned supply closet, Sadik stopped and turned his head back in the direction of Gupta's head was roughly located. "Before we go in there an', well," Turkey hesitated, an action completely unlike himself, "do . . . things, I gotta ask ya a question." Egypt did not answer immediately, so the Turk set the smaller man down, libido controllable now as Sadik fully intended to leave the Egyptian in the hall. However, that would not be the outcome of the scenario, as Gupta pulled Sadik down and crushed their lips together passionately. The action was intoxicating, making Turkey's knees go weak and his head to spin and his brain to forget anything beyond the bliss caused by the meeting of two pairs of lips. Shockingly, Egypt was the first to break away, whispering in Arabic in the Turk's ear. Those words made Sadik's eyes go wide and a smile to decorate the Turk's lush lips. He then picked up the Egyptian bridal-style and sped quick as his feet could take them to the supply closet and paradise on Earth.

_Moment_

For a moment, it seemed as though the world was perfect. Wang Yao was in charge of a country that had since shaken the yoke of his oppressors; he had the love of his life by his side; the world was good. Even though the world was at war, as well as his own country, still those facts could not damper the Chinese man's spirit. Then the war ended, and his entire world went to hell.

Ivan told him that, if he supported the new system, he and his love could split the piece of the pie that would come from ruling this new world order after the fall of many. That damn Russian lied. The newest war, fought on the land of his love, the one he had raised, destroyed everything it touched, including his love, his dear Yong-Soo. If the boy-man was not spitting curses at him, he was not unlike a machine, following orders, yes, but without care, without joy, without emotion. It was the second part that frightened Yao the most; that his Korean lover had turned into some sort of weapon to kill and destroy without ceasing. The fortune or misfortune depended upon one's view, but the angry Korea seemed to beat back his emotionless state long enough to end the senseless war, which pitted Yong-Soo's people against one another.

The only part China could really remember clearly was Korea's look of utter _hate_ as he gazed upon Yao. Those brown eyes, so warm and friendly and full of love, had only malice, disgust, and, deep down, _aching_ sadness. China attempted to convey his pleas for forgiveness through the windows of his own soul to Korea, which, given the way Yong-Soo broke their eye contact, were thoroughly and completely rejected. Yao hung his head in sorrow as his once lover walked away from the treaty room, leaving the Chinese man alone.

For a moment, the world was perfect, yet, as Yao learned yet again, a moment does not last forever. For the sake of his broken heart, however, China hoped for perhaps another moment of perfection before the end.

_Eternity_

It took Germania so long to succumb to the dark; it was okay, though, Rome thought, walking toward his dearest friend (almost lover), who stood before pearly gates of white and streets paved with gold, since they now had all of eternity to make up for lost and wasted time. The blonde seemed startled by the Roman's appearance, which made Romulus grin like the fool he once was at such an expression on his dear friend's normally so serious face. Adalheid stared disbelievingly at his once friend, the beautiful, dear friend he had murdered by his own hand stretching forth a tanned hand which bore no blemishes, no scars that had marred their beauty in life. The Germanic slowly reached out his own hand and clasped his dearest friend's tightly, still in a state of bewilderment. Rome grinned even wider and laughed in joy, suddenly embracing the man who had held his heart for so long and never did realize it. Germania stiffened before finally relaxing into the warmth of his dear Romulus. Finally, Adalheid had reached heaven.

&You'reBeautiful&

Turkish to English Translation:

yakışıklı – handsome

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